The Goddess
by Adamantwrites
Summary: Adam is mired in an ancient prophecy that deals with the worship of the Earth Mother, Gaia (and her many other names) and feels as if he has lost his way. What legacy was he left by his deceased mother? Strong warning: Mysticism, fantasy, mature situations, dark subject and anti-canonical behavior,
1. Chapter 1

**Let me urge you again not to read this if any form of fantasy, mysticism or such is offensive to you. And the story in for the mature reader as it deals with mature situations and language.**

**Disclaimer: Recognizable characters and settings are the property of their respective owners, Original plots and characters are the property of the author. No copyright infringement is intended.**

I

"Looks like someone's livin' here," Hoss said to Adam as they rode into the yard of a farmhouse on the far south-western edge of their property.

Adam looked around. He and Hoss were there to estimate how long and how many ranch hands it would require to tear down the farmhouse and open the property for grazing. The piece of property had been bought by Ben Cartwright, their father, about ten years ago; a homesteader hadn't been able to make a go of the small farm so Ben had bought him out and the homesteader gladly sold, receiving more money than he was going to ask. The property was on Adam's third of the Ponderosa and he and Hoss had ridden one and a half hours to reach it and surmise if the effort to tear down the house and barn was worth it.

"Damn it—squatters." Adam dismounted and glanced around the yard. It did look as if someone had moved in and made some crude repairs on the picket fence that surrounded the flower beds as well as a front porch step; the wood was new in one place. There were a few chickens that had scattered when they had ridden up and a cow and two horses were grazing in the nearby pasture—Adam's pasture, his property and this was prime grazing land. There were a few stands of trees but not enough to make it worthwhile to use for timber but the grass, on the whole, was thick and green.

The Cartwrights had had to deal with squatters before; they regularly ran off people—some more troublesome than others-who either didn't know or didn't care that the land belonged to someone else. Almost all of the Ponderosa was lush; there were only a few acres that lay next to Arizona that was just useful for mining and that was all. And despite the signs they put up regularly on the property indicating its ownership, many people either missed them, ignored them, tore them down or couldn't read. And some just figured that since there was no omnipresent landlord and the land stretched so far, they wouldn't be discovered until they had resided on the property long enough that the law would be on their side.

Many years ago, Ben Cartwright had divided up the Ponderosa into thirds, one third to each son. Adam had chosen this section due to its vantage to Lake Tahoe; he dreamed of one day building a house there for a wife and perhaps, children. But this section was closer to California and to Adam's thinking, that was the only drawback; people often passed through this section on their way to the goldfields and some stayed, not knowing that the property was owned by another—by the Cartwrights.

"Well, this won't be the first farmer we've thrown off our land," Adam said, pulling his gun and moving toward the porch.

"Adam, don't you think we should talk to them first, you know, tell them that they have to move on? Explain things to them kinda nice-like."

"Look," Adam said, his irritation obvious, "I'm tired of people think that they just set up housekeeping anywhere the hell they choose. Now I'm not going to ask, I'm not going to compromise and I sure as hell am not going to argue. Now c'mon, let's throw them off."

Hoss started to dismount but stopped when the front door opened and a woman moved onto the porch with a shotgun drawn.

"You," she said, motioning with the shotgun to Hoss, her voice quavering, "just stay on that horse and you," she said indicating Adam, "just drop your gun and get the hell off my property and don't come back again or I'll shoot you both off your horses. Now go!" She motioned with the shotgun but Adam still stood. "I said, drop your gun and go!"

Adam noticed that her hands were shaking. "Like hell I will," Adam said and defiantly strode toward her. The woman cocked the trigger and stood aiming at Adam but he still approached her, walking up the three steps.

"I'm warning you!" she cried but she didn't fire. Adam grabbed the shotgun barrel and jerked it from her hands and threw it on the ground. The woman stepped back in fear.

"I don't like having a gun pulled on me. I should…" Adam stopped himself; he felt as if he was losing his sanity, his logic, his rationality as he became overwhelmed with raging desire for this young woman before him; he couldn't take his eyes from her.

The woman wondered what the two men would do; the dark-haired one before her looked furious and it was him she feared but not for any reason she could articulate or even comprehend—it was like a buzzing in her ears, a strumming through her body. And Adam suddenly became afraid of himself as well.

He found he wanted nothing more than to throw the woman on the ground as he had done her rifle, push up her skirts and have his way with her, to grip her thighs and take what he wanted, what he felt was due him and he couldn't understand himself. Adam couldn't remember ever having the urge to take a woman by violence, to force her to submit to his will and his appetite—that was abhorrent to all he knew and believed and yet the impulse was there—it was almost a need to rut with her on the earth below them. He looked at the woman and wondered why it was she, why it was this woman that elicited such pure lust not tempered by gentleness. She was odd-looking with a small, heart-shaped face and eyes that were ice-blue, almost colorless and it gave her a strange look, as if she could see through him to his soul and what she saw there was black and vile. And Adam fought off his desire to ravish her, to taste her mouth and kiss her pale skin, to delve in the secret, moist place between her legs and when he was sated, to practically howl over her supine body, letting the world know his potency.

Adam stepped back, forced himself to move away from her and clenched his hands into fists at his side. He needed to control himself, to regain his logical sensibilities; he needed to get away from the pale woman. He stiffly walked back to his horse, mounted and left, kicking his horse into a canter as soon as he could.

Hoss' horse wanted to follow but Hoss held him back and dismounted and holding his horse's reins, he walked toward her; he admired how delicate and lovely she was. "Ma'am," Hoss said, "this house and property is part of the Ponderosa and we, well, my brother, Adam and I…" Hoss stopped as the woman's expression changed to one of wonderment, her eyes blankly staring.

"He shall be dark as a starless night and like the wolf that devours the sheep, so shall he devour you; and two will be as one the way they were at the beginning of all mankind, repeatedly bound together for all eternity," she said almost as in a trance.

"What, ma'am?"

The woman suddenly looked at Hoss as if she was surprised to find someone else with her. "Nothing," she said. "Something I read."


	2. II

II

It had taken Hoss quite a bit of talking to first calm her down and then to convince the young woman that it was all right for her to stay in the house for a while longer—she didn't have to leave quickly and could wait a few days or even weeks. She brought up Adam's threats and Hoss said that he didn't know what Adam was so upset about except that this was on his section of the Ponderosa. Hoss explained about the length and breadth of their property and that they often had the unpleasant job of sending people on their way.

"I understand," she said quietly, "we'll go."

"You ain't alone?"

"No," a woman's voice came from within the house and an older woman of about 50 to 60 years came out on the porch. She was plainly dressed and her hair was severe unlike the younger woman whose dark hair was making every attempt to escape from the staid chignon that tried to contain it. She was also plain of face.

"Ma'am," Hoss said in acknowledgement and tipped his hat. "I guess you done heard what we were talkin' about."

"Yes, I did and I apologize for what we've done but we had no knowledge that anyone owned this house—it's so lovely and since there's just the two of us, two women alone, well, it seemed a nice, safe out of the way place. But Jerusha and I…oh, we haven't introduced ourselves."

"I ain't done it neither," Hoss said looking chagrined. "My name's Hoss Cartwright and that was my older brother Adam. It ain't like him to be that rude. I apologize for him."

"No need to. I don't know how I would react had I found someone living illegally on my property."

"Ma'am, you ain't illegal, you just ain't legal."

The older woman laughed. "My name is Mrs. Eunice Watkins and this is my friend, Miss Jerusha Stafford. We've traveled from Massachusetts—Boston-so as you can understand why we were so happy to see this place after such a long journey; it was as if it was waiting just for us."

"You ain't got no man with you?" Hoss asked.

"No. No man," Eunice answered.

"And you come all this way? If you don't mind my askin', for what? Iffen you're lookin' for gold miners for husbands, well, you're not even that near the goldfields here. You need to head on out to California—further west."

"No, Mr. Cartwright," Eunice said, "we've come…to fulfill our destinies. At least Jerusha has."

Hoss noticed that the young woman, Jerusha, let Eunice do all the talking and that the whole time, Eunice had her arm protectively around the young woman; Hoss figured Jerusha was about 18 or 19—not much more than that. But Hoss decided not to ask any more questions.

"Tell you what," Hoss said. "Let me talk to my brothers and my pa; I'm sure they'll allow you to stay for a while but you'll need to move on eventually but not yet. Since you came all the way from Boston, you need to rest up awhile. Besides, my brother Adam, his momma was from Boston. My pa done spent quite a bit of time in Boston and that's where he met and married Adam's ma. He was a merchant seaman and he told me that for a time, he was a chandler. Anyway, I think he's got a soft spot for anyone from Boston."

"What was her name—your brother's mother? Perhaps I knew her." Eunice was interested in this piece of information.

Hoss looked at the woman; she looked old enough that she could be about the same age as Adam's mother. "Miss Elizabeth Stoddard. Her daddy was a sea captain." Hoss thought he saw a look of slight recognition come over the woman's features but then it was gone.

"No, it doesn't sound familiar but then Boston is such a large city," Eunice said.

"Yes, ma'am. Well, I'll be goin' and I'll talk to my pa and my brothers—I got a younger brother too—as soon as I get home."

"Thank you, Mr. Cartwright," Eunice said. "You will come to tell us your family's decision, won't you? And we are willing to pay rent—as long as it's not too much." She smiled at Hoss.

"Yes, ma'am, I will—give me a day or two but my pa probably won't ask no rent; he always taught us to help those who need it and since we ain't been getting no income from this property all these years I don't see why he'd ask for rent now but actually, he'd leave it up to Adam. Well," Hoss said, stepping down from the porch, "I guess I'll be goin' now." He mounted his horse and waved to the two women still standing on the porch. There was quite a difference between the two. Eunice was tall and big-boned and rplain with a full bosom and hips while Jerusha was small and delicate and glowingly lovely. They were an odd-looking couple standing there.

After Hoss rode away, Eunice turned to Jerusha.

"It is as I thought. The Goddess has led us here to meet up with Elizabeth's son. You are too young to have known her but she was one of our sisters and if her menfolk had let us tend to her at the birth, I don't believe that she would have died; we would have saved her with our herbs and our prayers and we know ways, but they wouldn't allow it—the men wouldn't allow it." Eunice had a faraway look in her eyes.

"Eunice, why me? Why do I have to be the one? I told you, he frightens me, his hunger frightens me. Can't I remain chaste like some of the other sisters of the Goddess?" Jerusha was terrified; she had had little interaction with men and she couldn't take a rifle for protection when she met up with the man. She had been told of her destiny, words, that up to this point, had no real meaning but now, now the prediction seemed to be coming to fruition.

"No, Jerusha. No. You cannot escape his grasp. Elizabeth's child was predicted to know a sister of ours, a sister who at the time was still waiting to reenter the cycle. I had hoped that Elizabeth would have a female child and that she would stay as one of us, join us in our rituals and in our family of women but then I found it was a male. Then I knew that the joining would be physical, of the body and not of the society. I'm sorry, Jerusha, but you were chosen and now he has found us—we didn't need to look for him after all." Eunice held Jerusha's face in her hands. "Don't look so sad—you should be happy that your destiny is now come to be. It proves the Mother's all-knowing power and that she communes with the Goddess."

"He frightens me." Jerusha said again of the dark-haired man. "Can't we go back?"

"He is a man of strong passions; as I watched, I feared that your joining would happen on the planks of our porch." Eunice laughed lightly. "Don't worry, Jerusha. When the time comes, you will want to be with him as much as he does you. There is no other way. Actually, I feel fortunate to have been present when your souls recognized each other. And so the cycle continues." And Eunice, still holding Jerusha's face, kissed her lightly on the lips. "Now I have to teach you how to deal with a man and we may have to use his brother."

"No, I…" Jerusha protested.

"Hush. I know what's for the best. Now let's have lunch. They will be back soon-the Cartwright men and I will have to decide how to go about this thing." Eunice put her arm around Jerusha's waist and led her into the house and shut the door behind them. Eunice's mind was full of the dark-haired man who was the child of Elizabeth, her beloved sister. Eunice envied Jerusha; she would have given anything, even a few years of her life to be destined to couple with him as Jerusha was—anything—he had the spark. But it wasn't to be and Eunice had to fulfill her position as guide for the young virgin.

TBC


	3. III

**III**

Hoss rode into the yard of the Ponderosa and dismounted. He had expected to overtake Adam on the trail but either Adam had taken a different shortcut or run his horse to exhaustion to get home before him because Hoss was certain that Adam was home. He dismounted and walked his horse into the barn and there was Adam currying his horse who was still wet, the horse still snorting to recover.

Hoss pulled the saddle off his horse feeling the dampness on the saddle blanket. "I told them they could stay awhile."

Adam said nothing, just kept grooming his horse. Hoss could see Adam's jaw working.

"You didn't notice I said 'them'." Hoss pulled a piece of burlap sack from a nail on the wall and began to rub down his horse.

"I noticed. It only makes sense that a woman wouldn't be out here without a man." Adam untied his horse's reins, led him into the stall and then after they both turned around, he removed the bridle and bit and hooked the rope to keep the horse inside. The horse went to its feed trough where Adam had placed a scoop of oats.

"No man—two women." Adam looked at Hoss in mild surprise and Hoss suppressed a smile. "There's an older woman 'bout Pa's age. Name's Mrs. Eunice Walton and the one you almost punched is Miss Jerusha Stafford."

Adam snorted in disdain. "I didn't want to punch her." He headed to the barn doors.

"What'd you want to do to her then?" Hos knew what Adam wanted; he had felt a bit of desire looking at her as well.

Adam stopped and then turned around. "None of your goddamn business and you had no right to tell them they could stay."

"Adam, I couldn't turn 'em out—they come all the way from Boston."

"Well, that's their problem isn't it," Adam said and continued out of the barn and walked across the yard to the house. No man—that young, lovely, delicious woman had no man with her. Adam's pulse stepped up; he had thought of the young woman the whole ride back and what he wanted to do to her but her having a husband had been an obstacle. But she had no husband—no man at all. And Adam took a deep shaky breath. She was just waiting for him…waiting. Somehow he knew but he also feared his reaction to her. Adam knew that he had to stay away—stay far away from her—from Jerusha.

"So," Hoss said to his family as they sat at dinner eating, "I told 'em that they could stay awhile. And guess what, Pa. They come all the way from Boston."

Adam had listened to Hoss without commenting, continuing to eat and feigning indifference; Hoss hadn't yet mentioned how angry Adam had become, how enraged he was to find squatters on his share of the property but Adam waited.

"From Boston? That's a far piece to come just to find husbands," Ben said.

"Uh, no, Pa," Hoss said. "They ain't lookin' for husbands." Hoss looked around the table and noticed that Adam was watching him closely as well as his father. "I mean I asked them iffen they was wantin' to marry gold miners but the older woman, that Mrs. Walton, she said that they were there to fulfill their destiny, at least the younger one was. And she's a right pretty thing too—just the right age for you, Joe, and you'd like her. Puts me in mind of a little faun. You know how them fauns look at you kinda sad and they have such delicate bones? That's what that younger one reminds me of—only she's a female through and through."

"Shut up, Hoss," Adam said, never looking up from his plate.

"Now what's stuck in your craw, Adam? You been in a nasty mood ever since we saw them on our land. You shoulda seen Adam, Pa. Why I thought he was…"

"Just shut your fat mouth," Adam said and stood up. He tossed his napkin on the table and strode out of the house.

"What's with him?" Joe asked.

"I don't know. He's been mean as a bear in ruttin' season. Give him a wide berth. Now, Pa…"

"Just a minute, Hoss. Now I want you to think about what they said. Did they use the exact words, 'to fulfill their destinies'?"

Hoss furrowed his brow, thinking.

"How come you always look so pained when you think?" Joe said.

"Joe…" Ben said. "What did they say?"

"Well the older woman, she done all the talkin' after Adam left and she come out and said that they come to fulfill their destinies and then she said that just the young one, Miss Stafford had. I don't know what she meant by that."

"Maybe it's like Manifest Destiny and she feels that they are destined to own that section of the Ponderosa." Joe laughed but neither Ben nor Hoss did. Joe just sighed in resignation; Adam would appreciate his humor, he thought, but Adam had walked out. Joe reached over and stabbed the piece of roast beef on Adam's plate and put it on his own to eat.

"Is it okay with you, Pa, iffen they stay a while?" Hoss said.

"Well, I would like to meet them before I agree. Why don't you and Adam ride out tomorrow and invite them to dinner Saturday. We'll talk then." And Ben went back to his dinner but his mind wasn't on his food. The words, "to fulfill their destinies," rang in his ears. He tried to remember where he had heard the words before and then he recognized the voice saying the very selfsame words—Elizabeth. She had said that to him when they had discussed marrying and traveling out west. Ben stopped eating and stared ahead.

"Pa? You okay?" Joe asked.

"What?" Ben said looking at Joe and then at Hoss who was staring at him.

"You okay?" Joe asked again.

"Yes, but I just remembered something I need to do." And Ben rose from the table and took the stairs to his room. He needed to scan Elizabeth's letters to him from when he had been at sea—he needed to find those words and analyze their context again; he had always assumed that she had referred to him and his desire to travel west and that she was destined for it too. But now he wondered and the old fear rose in his throat.

Ben's hands shook as he held the delicate pieces of fine paper that displayed Elizabeth's handwriting, her thoughts and her heart. Ben told himself to calm down—to carefully read with fresh eyes and an objective mind. Elizabeth had written him so many times, urging him home, telling him of her love for him and that she had a destiny to fulfill but needed him to do so. Ben found the letter he wanted and the others fell to the floor.

"Ben, it must be you I marry. Not only does my heart urge me toward it but my destiny is entwined with yours. We will have child ~ hopefully a daughter but if we have a boy, he can still carry on for me ~ for us ~ carry our blood and fulfill what must be."

Ben stopped reading. He had always assumed that it was his and Elizabeth's destiny to start an empire and it was that subject that Elizabeth referred to in her letter, or so it had always seemed. But now, now, Ben wished he had paid more attention to Captain's Stoddard's warnings about "The Sisterhood" and the women who had come to tend to Elizabeth during her pregnancy but were turned away by both him and Abel. He had seen the fear in Elizabeth's eyes when he told her that the doctor was on his way. She had asked him about her friends, where they were and Ben held her small hand and told her that she didn't need all those people in her room—the doctor wouldn't like it.

Elizabeth had cried and begged Ben; she wanted their help. After all, she added, they were women—they knew about childbirth and how best to help her but Ben told her that she was talking like a child—a beautiful child but still a child. Neither her father nor he would allow the group of women into the house again, not even Maude, the eldest woman.

"Please," Elizabeth said, "she's a midwife, my doula—she'll help me. The child needs to live—the Mother, Maude, she says—the Goddess has stated it must be so."

Ben listened and assured himself that Elizabeth was hallucinating as she was running a fever and after what had just happened, after the horrifying sight he had seen, it had to be ramblings of a delusional woman. His Elizabeth would never had willingly taken part in such a thing. "The doctor will help you," Ben had said to her and he leaned down and kissed her forehead. Then still smiling down at his beloved Elizabeth, Ben saw a dull look come into her eyes; she seemed resigned and Ben had wondered if he had made the right decision but he wanted to separate Elizabeth from the women permanently, especially Maude.

TBC


	4. IV

**IV **

Ben wasn't expected back yet; his job at the Chandler's shop usually ran until 7 in the evening and then, in the falling darkness, he would hurry home to his pregnant wife. But today, business was slow so he told his clerk he was leaving early and it was lovely to walk home in the May sunshine. Ben's heart sang; Elizabeth was due in a few weeks and then he would have his child, the son he was sure was on the way.

Elizabeth would often tease him and say that she was sure her child was a female. Ben would say that as long as the child was healthy, he didn't care if it was a male or female—he would love either but in his secret heart he wanted a son.

But this afternoon in May, Ben rushed home and when he reached the house, he opened the door and was about to call out to Elizabeth but he stopped; he heard a droning, a rhythmic murmuring sound from upstairs as if a group of people were chanting in unison.

Ben took off his hat and his jacket and waited, listening carefully. Slowly he walked up the stairs and knew that the sound was coming from their bedroom and he smelled sage burning—the pleasant, sweet odor emanating from the upper area. He walked to the door of the bedroom, stood and watched what seemed to be some type of ritual. All the women, about four on each side of the bed, stood with their eyes closed, holding hands, chanting what seemed to be a prayer and swaying from side to side. Elizabeth lay on the bed in her nightgown, her belly swollen and her full breasts, ripe for the child to nurse. Elizabeth twisted on the bed and as Ben stepped closer, he saw why; another woman, a woman in a long green gown kneeled on the bed with both hands on Elizabeth's abdomen.

All the women wore silver amulets, a slice of curved silver that looked like the new moon; Elizabeth had one as well and always wore it and today it lay on top of her gown, glistening in the slanted afternoon light. Ben watched her breasts heave as the woman worked, manipulating the swollen belly, massaging and kneading the flesh, then slipping one hand up her to check how far she had opened in order to give birth; Ben had seen the doctor do that as well but this—this angered Ben. He watched, barely breathing as there lay his wife, his Elizabeth, twisting and, crying while the women surrounded her. Ben was fascinated—finding that he couldn't take his eyes off the scene. Suddenly Elizabeth arched her back and shook from her head to her feet as if she was in some convulsion and then the woman stopped working over her, sitting back on her heels.

"You're almost ready—almost open enough," the woman said quietly to Elizabeth. She reached into a pocket and pulled out a long, narrow instrument and Ben watched as she inserted it, moved it and then a flood of fluid rushed out from between Elizabeth's legs. It is done!" the woman—a woman he had met as Maude-called out and the other women stopped chanting and opened their eyes. It was then that they saw Ben.

"Get out of my house," Ben said in a threatening tone, barely breathing. He looked at Elizabeth who still hadn't recovered her senses. She moaned and Ben was ashamed and embarrassed to see her that way

The women stepped away from the bed, shrank from him, and the woman who had been ministering to Elizabeth came forth and stood in front of Ben, a look of anger on her face. "This is not your business. The child has become too large and is not to be born for another two weeks—the child doesn't need to grow more and Elizabeth needs to give birth. We should have come sooner than this for our sister is in danger but you would not allow it—or her father." Ben remembered that Abel Stoddard had turned away the women, one time even threatening them with his walking stick. "I have made Elizabeth ready, caused her muscles to begin their contractions. She will begin to give birth within a short time and you must let us stay—at least let me stay or the child will kill her as he is born."

"He? It's a boy? How do you know it's a boy?" Ben was astounded at the news—it was just as he had hoped—a son.

The woman snorted in derision. "Like every man—only thinking of their ability to create another man—the woman, she is unimportant and can be sacrificed to their needs and lust. But the Goddess destines it to be so and it will. But one thing I know as the Mother, this child, the male child from Elizabeth our sister, will be joined with another of our sisters; it is to be. It is to be and you cannot stop it."

"Get out," Ben said. "Get out of this house—all of you!" Ben roared in anger. He hated these woman and as he looked around the room he saw faces he recognized, women who had come for Elizabeth on warm summer evenings and even on cold ones. And when Elizabeth would return from her outings with them, she would be exhausted and wouldn't want him; it was as if she had found the time spent with her "sisters," for that is what she called them, exhausted her. And she always wore the new moon pendant.

The women in the room, some young, some older, looked at each other; they were loath to leave their sister who was writhing on the bed with the beginning of labor contractions but the older woman who was obviously the one in charge, Maude, nodded to them and they filed past Ben. He could barely suppress his rage and anger and wanted to strike them all, to give them the back of his hand. The bitches! All of them!

"Let me stay," Maude pleaded as she stood before him.

"No—never, not after what I've seen; you've gone too far. Get the hell out of this house or I'll toss you out the window. How dare you do what you did to Elizabeth? You may have even endangered her life—and that of my son!"

"She will need me. Leave your male hubris behind and think of Elizabeth. Her life is at stake here. It was necessary to start the child on his way."

"Maude!" Elizabeth called out as she rolled on her side and clutched her belly. "It's the child! It's his time to be born!"

The woman rushed to Elizabeth's side but Ben grabbed her and threw her against the wall. "Get out. I'm warning you…"

Maude looked at Elizabeth and tears welled in her eyes; she herself had gone through the agonies of childbirth and she loved Elizabeth, more than this man did but she had no choice—she had to leave. Maude ducked her head and left the room, chanting a prayer to the Goddess as she left. Ben waited until he heard the sound of the door closing over Elizabeth's low moans.

Ben went to the dresser and pulled out a fresh nightgown for Elizabeth; he couldn't let the doctor see her this way, like some sweat-soaked heathen giving birth in the grass. He lifted Elizabeth from the bed, sat her in a chair and stripped the bed. He placed some heavy blankets over the soaked spot and pulled fresh sheets from the trunk and paused to stare at the empty cradle waiting for the child. Then Ben lifted Elizabeth to pull the wet gown off her and the clean one over her head and she looked at him, her eyes large and full of fear.

"Where did they go—where did my sisters go? Where is Maude?"

"They left, Elizabeth." Ben pulled her arms through the sleeves, one at a time and then he pulled the gown over her leg and lifted her and placed her on the dry bed. He pulled down the covers and laid her on the sheet, then pulled the cover back over her. Elizabeth pushed them off and struggled to remove her gown. Ben noticed that sweat had sprung anew on her face and neck.

"Elizabeth," Ben said. "Leave the gown on. I'm going for the doctor. You're ready to have the baby."

"Where is Maude?" Her eyes were wild with terror and pain.

"Gone. They've all gone and they won't be back. Those women will never enter this house again and as for our child, we'll take him so far away that none of them will ever lay eyes on him—never—or you." And Ben went to fetch the doctor but as soon as he stepped out the front door, he saw the group of women on the green across the cobblestone street. He turned and locked the door and then left, glaring at them. And by the next day, Elizabeth was dead and Ben had a son and no way to tend to him.

Ben was bereft and for months after, haunted by dreams more horrid than he could have imagined.

TBC


	5. V

**V**

Ben went to the dresser again and opened another drawer and pulled out a wooden casket. In the top tray, Ben kept his assorted cufflinks and a watch fob as well as a pearl tie pin. He lifted out the top tray. Elizabeth's wedding ring was there in the bottom tray; she wanted her son, Adam, to have it. It was made of almost pure twisted gold with a bezel-set ruby. He had purchased it in a small shop in Morocco where he had visited in his days as a merchant sailor. He remembered as he held it between his fingers and stared at it, that the ruby had caught his eye; it had a star in it and when one turned it, the star moved and glistened; Ben had been fascinated with it and so had Elizabeth when he gave it to her. He had slipped it on her finger and asked her if she would marry him and Elizabeth had smiled and said that of course she would—it was destined. And Ben felt as if things were happening as they should, that events were occurring in conjunction with the cycle of the world. And then his world fell apart when Elizabeth died.

Ben looked in the box again and pulled out a silver chain that held a new moon pendant, a curved sliver of shining silver. Ben was surprised that after all these years, it was untarnished but then he rationalized, it had been kept tight in the bottom of the box and Ben had never looked at the two pieces of jewelry since the first time he had placed them inside. He dropped them in his shirt pocket and went downstairs and out to the porch, past the inquiring looks from Joe and Hoss, and saw Adam sitting on the table where they played checkers, his feet on one of the chairs.

Adam glanced at his father and then continued staring ahead, his hands folded, his elbows on his knees.

"What caused you to stomp out and leave your dinner?" Ben asked. "You haven't had a temper tantrum since you were a small boy and even then, your tantrums were mild compared to say, Joe's." Ben waited but Adam said nothing. "I can have them thrown off tomorrow." Ben stood with his hands in his pockets closely watching Adam. Ben knew that Adam was aware he was talking of the two women.

"I don't care. Let them stay, throw them off—I don't care. I want nothing more to do with her."

"Who? There are two women."

"Either one of them—I don't want to deal with them." Adam stepped down onto the chair and put one foot on the porch planking and then the other to stand facing his father. "I'm going to check on the horses."

"Adam, the horses will be fine. The barn doors are barred shut."

Adam stopped; he knew that he couldn't avoid his father and that he might as well try to understand why he, himself was so upset at the thought of the young woman who was so close and yet at a distance. Maybe his father could help him, could listen and then Adam could organize his swirling emotions; that was the way he felt, as if he was caught up in some cyclone and being swirled and buffeted by what he felt—lust, anger, hate, love, helplessness. Adam felt as if he had no say in matters as far as the woman was concerned—none at all.

"I wanted to give you this," Ben said. He reached into his pocket and felt around and pulled out the ruby ring. "Here." Adam stared at it. "Take it," Ben urged.

Adam put out his hand and Ben dropped the ring in it.

"It's a little small for me, Pa." Both he and Ben grinned.

"It was your mother's wedding band. On her deathbed, she wanted me to take it and give it to you for your wife and I thought, well, since you and Melissa Cuthbert are keeping steady company, well, I thought that you might be asking her soon to marry you. If you do, you have the ring."

Adam looked at the small ring that he held in his palm; it was his mother's and all this time a part of her had been hidden in the house and he never knew. He held it in his fingers and even in the porch light he could see the star.

"I bought it in Morocco. There's supposed to be some ritual to accompany the stone, some celebration of the phallus as a life force and a primordial couple-nonsense. But Elizabeth, I mean your mother, came back from an outing with one of her 'sisters," that's what she called her friends, and she told me about the stone—what it meant and that she and I were—it was just as Hop Sing would say, 'foolishment.' I mean I had just bought the ring because the stone was so unusual. The only 'ritual' I knew was our marriage ceremony." Ben closely watched Adam as he examined the stone.

"It's quite beautiful," Adam said as he turned it in his fingers, examining it from every angle. "I'm sure it's valuable." He closed it in his fist. "Are you certain you want to part with it?"

"Your mother wanted you to have it and to—she had an odd way of putting it…"

"Putting what?" Adam listened carefully; his father had never talked about Adam's mother in any form of intimacy, just the general things a boy should be told about his mother—that she was beautiful, kind, was full of joy and had loved her son at the moment of his conception. And Ben had always told Adam that he was his mother's child.

"Your marriage. Even on her deathbed she talked about your future and she called it your joining—such an odd word."

Adam looked closely at his father; he seemed upset. "Thank you, Pa, but I don't know that I am going to ask Mellissa to marry me."

"Well, I hope you do—she's a wonderful girl but keep it even if she's not the one. Keep it then for the right woman."

"All right. I'll keep it then."

Ben shuffled a bit. "One more thing." Adam stayed and waited while his father reached again in his shirt pocket and pulled out a chain and pendant. "She also wore this." Ben noticed the rapt look on Adam's face as the silver moon pendant swung and spun in the light. "Would Melissa like it?"

Adam suddenly came to himself. "No. No, Melissa—she wouldn't like it, I'm sure. But it was my mother's?"

"Yes. Have you ever seen anyone else wear a pendant like this?"

Adam's mind went back to the young woman, Jerusha. She wore a pendant just like it; it sat a few inches below the hollow of her throat. "No," he lied. "I've never seen anything like it but if it was my mother's, I'd like to have it."

"Here," Ben said. "Take it, Adam." And Ben gave it to his son, Elizabeth's child. Suddenly he wanted the pendant back—it was a part of her as she always wore it except when the doctor had removed it and even then Elizabeth had protested-but Adam had already turned and gone back into the house. "Oh,  
Elizabeth, I sinned against you, my love. I turned away the only people who may have been able to save you and now they've claimed our son as theirs. Please don't let him be lost—please."

TBC


	6. VI

**VI **

Jerusha sat at the small kitchen table drinking a cup of tea when Eunice came in.

"Why are you still awake, my child?"

"Whenever I close my eyes, I see the man—that dark-haired man."

"His name is Adam—the name of the primordial man—the first man. Elizabeth sacrificed herself to give him to us but she named him aptly before she passed." Eunice sat down at the table and reached out to hold Jerusha's hand. "Does he not arouse feelings in you? Do you not yearn to join with him—long for the taste of him?"

Jerusha pulled her hand away and stood up. "I want to run from him—run as far away as I can. I want to go back to Boston where he will never find me. I don't want to have his child!"

"Jerusha!" Eunice said, standing up. "Maude told me at Elizabeth's death that a young sister would be the match for Elizabeth's son and when the time came, Xenia, in her trance, chose you—said it had to be you, the reason you came into the cycle—you are for him—his other side. He knew it. He knew it when he saw you but like all men, his first response was of violence at the idea that he could lose himself to a woman. But he will understand-eventually. "

Jerusha began to cry. "I don't want to have a child. I've seen enough births, I've seen the pain the women suffer, how they cry out in their agony and I don't want it. I don't want anything to do with him—or any man. I want to go back to Boston!"

"Jerusha, that's enough foolishness. Go to your bed and sleep. Soon it will be the new moon and everything has to be settled before then and you have to be ready. Now go."

In frustration more than anger, Jerusha ran to her room and threw herself down on the bed, sobbing at what she knew was her destiny but she wanted to avoid it; she didn't want to perhaps die giving birth just to fulfill some plan that was larger than she could ken. And the man, Adam, she feared his passion, feared his hunger and Jerusha pulled the blankets over her head and shivered.

Eunice dropped her head in her hands. Jerusha was far too young for this but she had been told by Xenia who had received the information before Maude passed to the other side to take Jerusha out west where Elizabeth's child was—waiting. The man will know her, Xenia had said, and it must be. Eunice stood up with new determination. Tomorrow she would begin to prepare Jerusha, let her know what to expect and so Eunice went back to her room to sleep. Not tomorrow night, she thought, but the night after; that would be the new moon and Jerusha would be presented to Adam as his mate. Eunice sighed and rolled over and was soon asleep.

Adam couldn't sleep. The young woman, Jerusha—he couldn't get her pale face out of his mind. He gripped the sheets in his hands with the desire to rend them, to destroy everything until he went to her. He would have that woman, possess her and he knew that she would resist, that her body would resist but he still wanted her, actually looked forward to taking her with violence if necessary.

Adam sat up. He had to go, had to ride out to the women's farm so he quickly dressed and went downstairs; the grandfather clock indicated it was 1:15. Adam put on his hat and jacket; it was spring but the nights were still cool. He went and saddled his horse and after checking the cinch again, rode out.

Unknown to him, his father had been watching from his bedroom window and as soon as Adam was out of sight, Ben dressed, saddled his horse and took off as well; he knew where Adam was going; had feared it.

Adam stood in front of the house. He didn't know why he had come and derided himself for being foolish. But then he walked around the small one-story ranch house and saw that a window was open—Jerusha's. He stepped to look in and watched her as she slept on her bed.

[i]What the hell am I doing here? I'm losing my mind.[/i]

He turned to leave but then Jerusha's bedroom door opened and he saw an older woman come in holding a dark red satin bag. Adam stepped to the side of the window so that he could see but not be seen himself. He saw Eunice go to the side of the narrow bed and touch Jerusha on her shoulder; the young woman jumped.

"What is it?"

"I had a dream and the Goddess spoke to me—she said to initiate you tonight so we must." Eunice pulled the sheets down.

"No. Can't it wait?" Jerusha asked. "Our other sisters haven't yet arrived."

"No, it must be now—the man is near and eager. Rise up from the bed, Jerusha, and take your place among the handmaidens of the Goddess." Eunice lit a candle in the room.

Jerusha climbed out of bed and stood in her nightgown, shivering slightly in the cool night air—or from trepidation; Adam couldn't decide.

Adam barely breathed as he watched. He knew he should leave—that he was doing something vile by watching such private matters but he couldn't pull himself away. He watched as Eunice lay the bag on the mattress and opened the drawstring and pulled out a phial and something else he couldn't quite see but he noticed Jerusha's face; it reflected fear.

Jerusha began to cry but Eunice calmly told her to hush and to do as she had been instructed so long ago—it was necessary. Eunice suggested to Jerusha that she close her eyes and concentrate on serving the Goddess and her sisters. "Just as a field is plowed and ripped apart to take the seed that grows into useful life, so must a woman be prepared the same way."

Adam could hear his pulse pounding in his ears. "The way to your fecund womb must be cleared of any barriers," Eunice said to her as she poured some substance from the phial into her palm. Eunice stepped closer as Adam watched. "And now the ritual of calling will begin."

Adam pressed himself back against the wall, closing his eyes—he knew that he couldn't watch and remain sane—he would break in the house and take Jerusha, carry her away. He broke out in sweat and his breathing was rough in his throat. He heard Eunice instruct Jerusha to remove her gown. Then he could hear the older woman chanting in a sing-song voice: "These breasts shall soon feed life, the life that she, the Goddess, the mother of all, has created. So as the man provides the seed and plants it, the woman is the fertile land in which the life will grow. So these breasts are dedicated to the Goddess." Adam could smell a seductive fragrance waft from the open window—the liquid in the phial.

"The belly in which the child shall grow is consecrated for the new life," Eunice chanted. "The gate must be widened, the way to divine life made ready and so you shall be made ready."

His head raged with heat—his eyes burned but he couldn't open them—wanted to see what was going on, what was causing Jerusha to cry out in small gasps and the thought that the Goddess wanted him to wait…to wait...ran through his mind. He even heard a woman's voice in his head telling him that the woman was being made ready for him, the way was being opened.

Eunice finished her dancing and chanting and Adam could hear her voice as she spoke tenderly to Jerusha.

"That's good, my child, that's good—it's small amount of blood. You will be ready for him now," Eunice said. "Men are the source of much pleasure as you will soon find out and even though all we need is their seed for children, my own husband and I passed many a pleasant time together." Eunice smiled at Jerusha who had crawled under the sheets. "Sleep well." Eunice gathered what she had brought with her and left the room and closed the door and she smiled to herself; she knew that Elizabeth's male child was watching—the Goddess had called to him and she knew he had come and seen Jerusha who would be given to him. "He is here, Elizabeth. He is primed and will be ready when the time comes. The blood call in this one is strong—he came to see his destined mate give her blood to allow him to join with her." And then Eunice stood still, her pulse pounding in her ears. She knew that not only Adam had answered the blood call but that his father had too; Ben Cartwright still had the bond with Elizabeth after all these years.

Jerusha tried to become comfortable but she felt a deep aching in her belly and in her soul—she needed completion of some type—what she needed, she couldn't voice. Adam found he could open his eyes again and he looked in at Jerusha and wanted her; he was ready to climb through her window when he felt a hand on his arm. He turned and was looking into the face of his father.

Ben motioned with his head and Adam looked back to the window and the young woman who was inside and he suddenly came to his senses.[i]What the hell am I doing? Why am I even here? [/i] Adam shook himself and something snapped and his rationality returned. He walked away with his father, back to the horses and both of them mounted up but before they rode off, Adam heard small cries come from the open window—and so did Ben and he felt the old, ancient knowledge a man has of a woman shake him almost to his bones.

TBC


	7. VII

**VII **

Father and son rode in silence until they were almost back at the Ponderosa; the sun was beginning to rise and Adam felt relief to know that he could now rationalize in the light of day. Adam had come to fear the night because he was haunted by dreams and it wasn't until he saw the young woman on the porch that he had recognized who the woman was who peopled his dreams, who he dreamed that he rent open as he enjoyed her and left her full of children That was his dream, that he would take the beauty, experience pleasure—exquisite pleasure, and then she would swell with children—children unable to be born. And then, in the dream that occurred over and over, night after night for the past month, Adam would take a moon-shaped blade and slice her open and children would crawl out. He would gather them in his arms, joyously happy until he looked and realized that she was dead, her belly split open. And his grief at losing her was so sharp that he would wake up gasping in pain-it seemed so real, the pain of loss. And it would follow him all day like a black shadow.

Adam had kept the disturbing dreams to himself, blaming them on his inability to commit to Melissa Cuthbert and his own mother's death at his birth. Unlike Hop Sing, Adam didn't believe in dreams as any foretelling image; they were just the product of unresolved emotions which he had.

"What were you doing there," Ben quietly asked.

"To be honest, Pa, I don't really know—I just felt that I had to ride out there. I couldn't sleep and I thought maybe if I took a ride I could sleep later but found myself there." Adam couched the lie in the truth. How could he tell his father that he had felt called and lost the will to resist—and that he wanted the young woman—desired her, needed her and to feel the smoothness of her body pressed against his. Adam sighed deeply. "And you, Pa? What where you doing there?"

"I followed you." Ben looked straight ahead.

"Why?"

"I was afraid that you were…do something for me, Adam, please?"

"What?"

"Go see Melissa today. Invite her for dinner tonight. I'm having Hoss and Joe ask the two women to come." Ben glanced at Adam and to hi, Adam looked gravely upset. And Ben was right when he heard Adam's strangled voice.

"No. I won't be at the dinner. It's Friday and tonight I'm going into town and get drunk."

"Fine," ben said, "but go see Melissa anyway and…" Ben sucked in his breath. "Give the silver moon pendant to her—if she wants it."

"Why?" Adam asked. "You said it was my mother's and you've kept it all these years. Why should I give it to Melissa?"

Ben considered what he was going to say. "To see if she already has one."

The two men pulled into the yard. They sat on their horses and looked at one another.

"What? Why is that important?" But Adam felt a chill run down his spine; he had been so engrossed in watching the ritual of Jerusha being made ready, what he could see and hear, that the pendant that had glistened between her breasts hadn't yet seeped into his consciousness. She and Eunice both wore a pendant identical to the one that his mother had worn.

Ben looked up at the sky. Saturday night would be the new moon and he feared for Adam and for himself. "Adam, offer Melissa the pendant. See if she reaches under her collar and pulls out an identical one or if not and she wants it—give it to her. Show her the ring as well."

Adam dismounted and Ben followed suit.

"I don't know if I want to marry Melissa. If I show her the ring, she'll think I'm proposing. Besides, you're talking foolishness." Adam led his horse into the barn to water and feed it. He would just loosed the cinch since he still had to go back out on the property.

Ben followed him. "Indulge me, Adam. Go to see Melissa this morning. And also, come to dinner and bring her."

"Pa…"

"Adam, I just found you looking in a young woman's window and I have a feeling she wasn't behaving chastely. Do you want to share what you saw, what caused her to cry out? She wasn't having a bad dream. And I had the impression that you were about to climb through her window. That's not like you, Adam."

Adam flushed. "I don't know what came over me. Pa, it was as if something or someone else was controlling me; I didn't like the feeling. I wanted to leave but I couldn't move and as for what I saw, I still…maybe I imagined it—dreamed it. I did feel almost as if I was sleepwalking. Pa, I don't understand any of this."

"Just do as I ask—this once, Adam, please do as I ask. See Melissa and offer the pendant—bring her to dinner so she can meet them. I'll know then—and you will too."

"Know what?" Adam asked in frustration. "What the hell am I supposed to know?"

"I'm not sure, Adam, I'm not sure." And Ben left Adam standing in the barn.

Jerusha walked into the kitchen and sat; she accepted what had happened—she was ready now and she knew that her fate was set.

Eunice laughed lightly. "The discomfort will pass, my child, and you need to relax now that the ritual is over. And," she said as she sat at the tale as well with the coffee pot, "our sisters will be here today and we will gather. All will be prepared for the joining ritual."

"As you say," Jerusha said. "Eunice, I…I felt the man was with me. I felt as if he was breathing on top of me—I swear that I could feel his weight press down on me and his whispering sweet words of love—of our meeting and finding one another. But he wasn't there. I opened my eyes and he wasn't there."

Eunice smiled. "Have some biscuits, dear. I made them this morning and was up so early that we have fresh butter." And Eunice began to hum to herself; all was going as it should—as it must. Jerusha and Adam were becoming more attuned with one another and after they had captured his source, he would never be able to resist the pull to her, not even should his father come and try to save him again—never.

TBC


	8. VIII

**VIII**

"Of course I'll talk outside but my father might get suspicious," Melissa said laughingly as she sat down on the porch swing. Adam sat beside her after having removed his hat. "It's such a lovely day, isn't it, Adam, but I'm surprised to see you so early."

"This really is a beautiful piece of property," Adam said gazing out at the fields of grazing cattle. Trace Cuthbert was proud of the fifty acres he owned and his prime seed bull. He wasn't a wealthy man but he did well and along with the bull, his beautiful daughter Melissa was his pride and joy and he was also proud that she was being courted by Adam Cartwright despite the years age difference; Melissa was 22 and although she had been engaged to be married twice, for some reason, things had never worked out. And when she looked on Adam Cartwright, she was glad. He was handsome, educated, wealthy, generous and kind. When they were alone, he didn't clutch at her and try to touch her in private place as some of the younger men did. He was, as her mother had said, "A true gentleman." Nd that was the only side of him she ever saw, all he allowed her to see.

"Adam," she said in a teasing tone, "are you courting me just for the property? Are you going to ask me to marry you just to add to the Ponderosa?"

Adam was taken by surprise. He and Melissa had touched upon the subject of marriage but that was all and although she used a bantering tone, Adam knew she was half-serious. Just last week her father had asked Adam if his intentions toward his daughter were serious. Adam hadn't known how to answer but then he realized that he wouldn't find another woman like Melissa so he had answered that he did consider marriage but that he and Melissa hadn't seriously discussed it. Trace Cuthbert had drawn on his pipe and said that he just wanted to know and that neither Adam, Melissa nor he were getting any younger and that if Adam dishonored his daughter, well, he had three grown sons to take care of that. Trace had laughed but Adam knew that he was serious about that as well.

"I came to ask you to dinner tonight. Would you like to join us?"

"Oh, that would be lovely!" Melissa had been to dinner at the Ponderosa before and enjoyed being the only woman and the object of compliments and the Cartwright men; they always made her feel wanted. "What time shall I be ready?"

"I'll be here at six." Adam stood up. "My father has invited the new boarders on a piece of property, two women—he sent Hoss and Joe to do the inviting-and I think he feels that having you there would help break the ice."

"Oh," Melissa's face fell. She didn't like the idea of two other women and she also didn't like the reason she was invited—and the invitation was his father's idea. "Well, I'll be ready. Do you have to leave so soon?"

"Yes, I have some things to do in Virginia City—I wanted to stop by here first." He had placed the pendant in his pocket before he had left the Ponderosa but hadn't yet felt the desire to give it to her. On the ride over, he had pulled the new moon pendant out of his pocket and ran his fingers over the slightly rounded shape of the curved piece; it had made him feel closer to his mother but his father had asked him to offer it to Melissa so Adam pulled it out of his pocket again.

"Oh-I was wondering if you would like to have this—it was my mother's and my pa just found it again. He thought you might like it and I…I agreed."

Melissa's heart sang; Adam wanted her to have something of his mother's and that had to mean that he was serious about her—wanted her as his wife. She put out her hand and Adam laid the pendant and chain in her palm but it slid out and dropped on the wooden planks of the porch. Adam leaned down and picked it up. He handed it to Melissa again and again, it slid from her palm but Adam caught it before it hit the ground. He offered it again but Melissa stepped back.

"I shouldn't take it, Adam. Since it was your mother's, you should keep it. Besides, it doesn't seem to want me, does it?" Melissa tried a small laugh but it sounded as if it strangled her. She put her hands behind her back and stepped away from Adam, staring at the pendant in his hand.

"Do you have one like it?" he asked. He knew she didn't—she seemed afraid but his father had suggested that she might want it so. Adam had to be sure.

"No. I don't. It is lovely but, I mean, why the moon? It's not even a full moon. I always hated that type of moon, when it's just a slice in the sky. I like a pure moon—full and complete. You said it was your mother's?"

"Yes. My father said she wore it constantly. I guess I'll keep it." Adam slipped it back in his pocket; Melissa isn't one of them, he thought, but one of what? Adam didn't know. Jerusha had the pendant, wore it and in that way, was akin to his mother—the mother he never knew. But suddenly Adam felt a presence that seemed to want him to be gone from Melissa's porch. "Are you sure you want to come tonight? You aren't canceling any plans, are you?"

Melissa didn't want to go for dinner anymore—there was something unsettling about the new moon pendant but she didn't want to have Adam sit at dinner with two unknown women and for her not to be there. "No, I'd love to go. Can I bring a dish?"

"What? And insult Hop Sing to his face?" Adam laughed. Melissa did as well and Adam leaned in and lightly kissed her. He waited to see if he felt any rush of emotion after touching lips with her but there was nothing. "Pick you up at six," he said and putting on his hat, he mounted up, waved and rode away.

Dinner was tense and everyone seemed to feel it. Ben tried to maintain lively conversation and asked Eunice about Boston, where she lived and asked if she knew or had even met Adam's mother, Elizabeth. Eunice said, no, she had never met anyone that fit her description but Ben knew she was lying. Eunice's face haunted him—he felt an itch in the back of his mind but he couldn't concentrate on it. There was something… but when it came to Jerusha, Ben knew there was the pull, the attraction of almost polar opposites; he knew that Adam didn't stand a chance. He had never seen Adam so restless and distracted but he knew it was because of last night and what Adam had watched but refused to talk about.

Jerusha Stafford was introduced to Melissa Cuthbert when she and Adam entered the house and joined the group for aperitifs. Melissa smiled in return, carefully taking in the young woman's appearance, appraising her clothing and then Melissa's smile froze. There on Jerusha's bosom, just at the edge of her dress' neckline, was the silver crescent moon pendant. Melissa felt sick—Adam must have given the pendant to this young woman who glowed with an iridescent beauty, her lips rosy and full, her cheeks flushed, her eyes feverish. Melissa noticed that Adam did his best not to meet the young woman's eyes and that in his efforts to avoid her, it made his attraction to her all the more obvious. Melissa felt her stomach knot. She would have to ask Adam—accuse him of giving the gift to this woman whom he claimed on the ride over, that he barely knew.

And as the dinner progressed, Jerusha kept her eyes dropped, only looking up when someone would ask her a question—but Adam never did. Although Adam basically ignored her, Jerusha was relieved. Before Hoss Cartwright had come to pick them up, Eunice had told Jerusha that Adam had seen the ritual, her defloration and her exploring what gave her delight.

"No, he couldn't have!" Jerusha was shamed and appalled thinking of all that she had done but then she had known, she realized—she had mentioned to Eunice that she had felt it but now, now she had validation.

"He is part of it—it's only right he should see. Were it in the ole days, the man would share in the ritual—but now it's only necessary he be there. He can learn how to pleasure the woman by watching."

"I can't go tonight. I can't face him."

"You will go, Jerusha."

"But I don't want to see him—I don't want to look at his face and know what he has seen!"

"Jerusha." Another woman's voice rang out and she and three other women stood on the stairs, all of them in their forties or fifties and pleasant of face—handsome women. They were dressed primly yet their moon pendants were obvious outside their dresses and resting on their bosoms. "You will go, do you understand?"

"Yes, Hortense, I understand. I don't mean to be disobedient, it's just that—can't I remain without a man? I'm afraid of carrying a child—especially your beloved sister's child. And why do I have to be the one—what is so important about it." Jerusha's eyes pled with them for understanding.

Hortense smiled and the other women smiled knowingly to one another. They walked over to Jerusha and Hortense held Jerusha's face in her hands. "I, along with Phoebe, and Mariah have come all this way to gather his seed and to perform the ritual. You must go and fulfill your destiny—you will carry his child. It shall be a girl child and she will, when she grows, become our most enlightened Mother of the Goddess. Our sister Elizabeth was to be a Mother of the Goddess but then—well, it needs not be mentioned again. Her son has her blood and his face turns to the Goddess, to the light of knowledge of the universe but he is a man and his pride interferes. But you have a service to perform. Is it understood?"

"Yes, Hortense, I understand. Forgive me my cowardice. I hope, well, I am dedicated to the Goddess and I know my place in the life cycle and the moon cycle. I will be ready tomorrow night."

"Good," Phoebe said. "Now go to their home. What happens doesn't matter; if our plans go as predicted in the vision, all will succeed. He won't be able to resist."

They watched as Eunice and Jerusha went out to the porch to wait for the Cartwright buggy.

"What of Ben Cartwright?" Phoebe asked. "What if he remembers Eunice? She and I were both there on the night of Adam's conception. What if he remembers?"

"He shouldn't. Men focus of the physical and if he was in the midst of the blood call, his memories would be vague anyway—even the morning after the conception."

"I hope so," Phoebe said. "For Jerusha's sake and that of the sisterhood."

TBC


	9. IX

**Warning-semi-graphic sexual material.**

**IX**

Adam clucked to the horse to go faster but the horse basically ignored him and Adam was too distracted to care. The evening's events churned through his mind and he was still upset. As he rode home after delivering Melissa to her house. He hadn't even kissed her goodnight but then she had stormed off, slamming her front door behind her.

"You must have given Jerusha that pendant!" Melissa had said as they rode; she was close to tears.

"I'm telling you, I didn't. I have my mother's pendant at home and why would I give a piece of my mother's jewelry to a woman I've only met once before and who doesn't mean anything to me?" Adam's jaw worked with anger. He was offended that Melissa would accuse him of such a thing and then, when he truthfully denied it, not believe him.

"So you're saying it's just a coincidence."

"It is—whether you believe it or not."

They rode in silence but Melissa was fuming. It couldn't be a coincidence but what Adam had said made sense—unless she did mean something to him and he had met her more than once before. "She's more of a girl than a woman, wouldn't you say?"

"What?" Adam turned to look at Melissa.

"She's young-younger than I am and too young for you." Adam said nothing, the memory of hearing Jerusha pleasuring herself in her bedroom suddenly filled his mind; he found himself becoming aroused again and he made himself think of other things—the argument he and Melissa were having.

"Do you think she's pretty?" Melissa asked him. She waited.

"Yes. Yes, I think she's pretty and why do you say she's too young?"

"Well, you're ten years older than me and she's well, she must be at least five years younger than me. That's fifteen years."

Adam shook his head and chuckled with disdain and neither he nor Melissa said anything else until they pulled up in her yard and Melissa jumped down, not waiting for Adam to help her.

"Good night, Adam," Melissa said curtly and then made a big to-do about stomping up the porch steps and slamming the front door behind her.

Adam climbed back up and clucked to the horse, snapping the reins and headed for the Ponderosa. He had no time for this, he told himself. Women and their fits of pique; he didn't need it.

Adam woke up lying naked in the damp grass; he didn't know how long he had lain there or even how he had come to be there, but the sun was beginning to rise. He searched for his clothes and spied them, scrambling to put them on. And then he remembered hands on him, women's hands—and Jerusha's face and her mouth and she was saying something to him—something he had wanted to hear, desperately wanted to hear. He remembered feeling as if his limbs were as heavy as lead and then…Adam shook his head to clear it—and then he remembered feeling overwhelming sexual ecstasy that seemed to be endless and had finally exhausted him. HIs body was tender and ached. He remembered Jerusha's cool hands were on his enraged member, coaxing it to spend again; he remembered it—or had it all been a dream—or was he going mad? Lately he wasn't sure what was real and what wasn't.

Jerusha stood before the five older women.

"You did well," Hortense said. "You shall be ready for tomorrow night. He will come now and we had no need to use his brothers, to plant jealousy within his heart. Eunice said the blood called to him last night and now the seed, his seed will call him tomorrow night and after the emptying—which you did well as instructed, Jerusha, he will be filled to overflowing tomorrow. Go to bed, Jerusha—you need to be rested as the ritual will last for hours."

Jerusha obediently went to bed and curled under the covers but she couldn't sleep; she could only think of the man, the one called Adam and what had happened. She blushed to think what she had done, of her part in the ritual and wondered if he would remember her lips on him, cooled his enraged member, and the soft kisses she had placed to catch the first drops of life. And she remembered his taste and his smell and it made her head swim. But what had shocked her the most was the thick mat of hair on his chest and the rough hair at his groin; even his scrotum was covered with coarse hairs. How different men were. Now she began to understand the words of the ritual in greater depth, how opposites are joined to become one and create themselves anew.

Jerusha danced in the middle of the circle, fires burning on the perimeter, the five other women around her. It was the new moon and the women chanted calling to the dark-haired man.

_"Appear before us, show yourself to us_

_ Without alarming, without deceiving,_

_ We call you in the dark of the new moon,_

_ We call you to start new life._

_You are he who was, _

_You are he who is, _

_You are he who always will be."_

Jerusha felt herself begin to turn and sway along with the rhythm of the chanting and then she saw him. The man she feared but yet desired stepped from the trees and walked toward the circle. And from his eyes, Jerusha knew he was entranced and that he saw nothing but her, wanted nothing but her and her mind raced to remember the words of the divining ritual.

Adam passed through the circle of women and then they surrounded him and quickly undressed him; he made no effort to resist. His eyes never left Jerusha and once his clothes were shed, she guided Adam to lie down on the grass, He did and she began to stroke his body, run her hands across his chest, across his abdomen and then, looking up at Hortense who nodded, took his erection in her hands. Hortense handed her a crystal vial and then the women began to chant and sway in a circle around them, Adam lying prone on the grass and Jerusha mouthing and stroking him. And then the first few milky drops seeped, escaping, and Jerusha kissed them away. As instructed, when she saw it was time, the arching of his neck, she quickly moved and caught what she needed in the vial; he gave them a copious amount as one of the other women massaged him to encourage him to empty completely. Now tomorrow night, all the sisters knew, he would be full to overfilling with fresh seed to leave inside Jerusha, to give her the descendent of Elizabeth, their sister of past days.

After he was dressed, Adam shook his head. His dreams kept coming back to him—or were they memories? And a chill ran through him. What was he doing here in the middle of a clearing with the ashes of fires in a circle around him? It wasn't a dream—there was physical evidence that it was a memory. But he couldn't remember how he come to be there—just a vague humming in his ears remained and as he tried to remember more, the more it faded away.

He went to look for the buggy he had been driving and finally, after walking basically in a circle, he saw the horse, still hitched to the buggy in which he had driven home Melissa, cropping at grass. Adam climbed on the seat and turned the buggy for home, at least what he hoped was home as his head was still cloudy. And he thought of Jerusha and suddenly he saw her face before him and felt again her cool hands and her hot mouth on his body and he felt the deep, ravenous hunger for her and it was all he could do to keep from heading for the house where the two women lived.

TBC


	10. Chapter 10

All eyes turned to Adam as he walked in the house. Hop Sing who was placing a platter of fried potatoes on the table, took one look at Adam, shook his head and mumbling in Chinese, went into the kitchen. Ben stood up and Joe and Hoss looked at one another; older brother looked as if he had been through hell.

"Where have you been?" Ben asked a bit too sharply. He hadn't wanted to make Adam defensive but he had paced in his room all night waiting to hear Adam's horse indicating he was home.

Adam started to answer and then just shook his head; he was wary of how he would respond. He threw his hat on the credenza and went to the stairs.

"Adam!" Ben said. Adam stopped, his hand on the newel post. "Where have you been? You've been out all night—I think you owe me—owe us, an explanation."

"Out," Adam said, looking at his family, daring for them to ask more. "Just out." He went up the stairs and Ben sat back down, clasping his hands together as if gathering his thoughts.

Earlier, while waiting for their father so that they could start breakfast, Hoss and Joe, trying to stave off worry, had been speculating as to just where Adam had been all night. Hoss considered that maybe Adam and Melissa had run off to get married but Joe said, no, Adam wasn't that crazy about Melissa. Besides, he had added, "They didn't seem to be getting along too good last night."

Hoss then suggested that maybe Adam went into town to enjoy a woman. He couldn't have stayed with Melissa; her father would have gone after Adam with a shotgun and then they would be married. They both became silent when their father came downstairs and they saw his face; their father was worried, desperately worried.

And then Adam had walked in. He had purple shadows under his eyes and although he was usually neat in appearance, this morning he was disheveled and there were leaves and other debris clinging to him. But at least he was safe—safe and home.

Ben knocked on Adam's door and then opened it, not waiting to be asked in. Adam lay on the bed, one arm thrown over his eyes. His boots had been dropped on the floor—not lined up against the wall as they usually were—and his dress jacket had been thrown on the floor.

Without moving, Adam said, "Go away, Pa."

"I will but...I need to tell you something first—and I don't know how to start."

Adam sat up. "Just tell me. Is it about my mother?"

Ben was surprised but then he realized he shouldn't be; Elizabeth had seemed to haunt him of late, coming to him in his dreams for the past month and she was as beautiful as she had been. And in his dreams, she would lie with him, caressing his face and pressing herself against him just as she had done when they were young and oh, so much in love, and he would wake finding himself sticky and hot.

"Yes, it's about your mother. I loved your mother very much."

Adam sighed. "You've told me that before," he said.

Ben cleared his throat. "Your mother and this girl, this woman, Jerusha—I think your mother wants…I think that…"

"Pa, first, my mother's dead, a long time dead and I sure as hell don't believe in ghosts or supernatural powers and I don't want to talk about the girl. I don't—"Adam fell back on the bed. He decided that he would just tell what had happened—or what he remembered having happened. "I woke up naked in a clearing. That's where I was all night after I left Melissa's, at least I assume that. I have vague feelings and images in my head about what happened but I'll be damned if I know what did happen to me. I know there were women dancing and fires burning and Jerusha. And I want her, Pa." Adam looked at his worried father. "I have to have her. I can't rest until I do."

Ben walked to the window and looked out. "There were times when I was away at sea and I swore that I could hear your mother's voice in my ear, calling to me, whispering how much she wanted me. I had the urge to jump off the ship and swim to her, it was so strong, the calling in my blood—the heat that would run through me, the sound of the women singing…"

Adam watched his father and wasn't sure if he wanted to hear these things about his parents—particularly his mother. He had always worshipped her in his way, thought of her as perfect. Adam knew that was foolish, that his mother must have had flaws but yet, in her portrait, she seemed composed and gentle. When he was a child, Adam often wished she were alive so that he could sit at her feet and lay his head in her lap and she would stroke his hair and he would feel loved, cherished.

"I think I know what you're going through," Ben said to Adam as he found he had to look his son in the face. "I feel it too—the need to go to them—the calling of their voices; it fills your head, it flows through your blood and then there's the urge, that fire in your groin." Ben leaned on the bed. "I fear for you but I know what it's like not to answer it."

"What do you mean?" Adam sat up again and Ben turned his back to Adam, his fists shoved in his pocket.

"I think your mother died because of me. I sent the women away, the women who had gathered to help deliver you. Your mother begged me to call them back but I wouldn't. I was afraid of them and so was your grandfather but she needed them and I didn't want them around."

"Why not?" Adam was suspicious. He couldn't decide exactly what his father was trying to tell him or why.

"I was jealous of them," Ben said and turned around to look out the window. "She loved her 'sisters' as she called them and they loved her. One time our ship came in early—we had such a huge cargo we couldn't hold anymore so we had headed for home early which I had wanted—I had such a fever for my wife left in Boston. Anyway, after we docked, her father had to work out the delivery and payment but I couldn't wait to get home to see Eliza…your mother. We hadn't been married long and, well, I wanted to be with her before her father came home. I wanted to surprise her—it was late and I knew she would have retired and I envisioned slipping into her bed and kissing her to awaken her but when I entered her room, she was there with…two of her 'sisters.' They were waiting for me, expecting me." Ben let out a deep breath. "And I joined them."

Adam stared at his father not knowing what to say.

"Afterwards, I was so shamed by my behavior-that I forbade her to see any of the women again or to even mention them. And it was that night that you were conceived." Ben sighed. "But what was the most surprising thing was that neither of the women nor your mother were surprised I was there that night—they said they were waiting for me, knew I was coming—had been calling me and they needed..." Ben stopped speaking and looked at Adam, noticing the look of wonder on his son's face, as if this man before him was someone he didn't know. "I felt I had to tell you. It's in your blood, Adam, the need, the fire…the woman." And Ben turned and walked out, went to his room and sat on his bed, his head dropped in his hands. What would Adam think of him now that he knew—and of his mother?

And the memory of that night so many years ago was as fresh in his mind as if it had happened last night, Elizabeth's smile and her white, round arms out in a welcome embrace. And then there were the other women and their hands and their mouths." Ben shuddered when he remembered the rapture of that night, the transcendent ecstasy. "Oh, Elizabeth, Elizabeth, your blood runs through your son—not mine, but I will try to help him. I will."

TBC


	11. XI

Adam tried to read but his mind kept turning to Jerusha and then his pulse would race and he would feel the heat in his loins and the blood surge to ready him for a woman, for Jerusha. Earlier that evening, Adam had looked out the window and noticed that it was the new moon, the glowing sliver in the sky reminding him of Jerusha's pendant that sat between her breasts and just as the sun was blocked by the moon except for that one shining sliver, so was Jerusha hidden for him except for that one part of her he knew. Adam had walked over to his desk and opened the top drawer and pulled out his mother's moon pendant, sliding the chain through his fingers. "Mother," he whispered. A soft breeze passed by him and it felt as if someone was stroking his cheek, ruffling his hair—something he had always wished for a child—that his mother's soft fingers would stroke his hair, touch his face and comfort him when he needed it. Adam realized that he had never called anyone "mother," not even Inger. No one had ever been his mother and he felt a sudden loss, a profound sadness. He placed the pendant and chain back into the drawer and was about to close it when he saw the ruby ring. He picked it up and held it. The star in the ruby glistened and winked in the light. On an impulse, Adam dropped it in his shirt pocket; he didn't know why except that it made him feel as if the spirit of his mother was close to him.

All evening Adam had been restless, unable to concentrate on dinner conversation or to read afterwards. Adam also noticed that his father kept glancing at him but Adam just put it down to awkwardness between him after what his father had confessed. Once Joe and Hoss left for a Saturday night in town, Adam said, "I think I'll turn in now and read there."

"You seem to be uneasy around me now that I told you about your mother and me," Ben said, "And I just…Adam, I don't want you to wake up in some field again not knowing how you came to be there or why. I hoped the information would help. I did love your mother—more than…more than both Inger and Marie combined." Ben dropped his head.

"Pa, I don't want to talk about it anymore. Hell, I don't even want to think about it anymore. Can't we just let it drop?" Adam stood up, his book in his hand.

"All right, Adam. We'll let it drop."

"Thank you—I appreciate that and please, I don't ever want to hear anything more about my mother." Adam didn't wait for his father's response, just climbed the stairs to his room. He didn't tell his father that about an hour earlier, he had begun to feel a humming in his ears, a droning, the familiar chanting sound and although he had shaken his head slightly and tried to press the inside of his ears with his little fingers in hopes of suppressing it, it was only becoming stronger. "Come to me. Come to me. Your blood calls you, your seed calls you. Come to me. I await you, I await the joining. Come to me…"

Eventually, Adam had fallen asleep in his clothes while trying to read. During his uneasy sleep, he had a dream about women dancing around him and singing to him and beckoning him to come to them:

_"Listen to the words of the Goddesses who call you to join them, you, the life-giver. Listen and come. Join us in the union of dark and light, of old and new, of life and death. Listen and heed our call."_

Adam, as uncovered as his namesake in the garden of Eden, stood in the midst of the women in the same clearing, having had his clothes gently removed by the five women while he stood enthralled by the sight of Jerusha. He had answered their call, Jerusha's call of seduction and had appeared at the edge of the circle of fires and standing in the middle of the circle of flames was Jerusha in a diaphanous gown; it was like a wedding veil.

Once he had shown, the women had moved toward Adam, their hands rushing over him, shedding his vestments of civilizarton, as he approached Jerusha. They gently pulled him to the center of the circle. He felt as if he was in the midst of a beehive, the droning and buzzing of their words, their hands moving on him like soft wings producing a slight breeze, but all he saw was Jerusha—all he felt was heat for her—and a hunger that needed sating but paradoxically, he knew that the more he gorged on her, the more his hunger would grow—he was insatiable.

_"We are the providers of life—the fertile ground in which the seed of man grows. We are the sisters of the Goddess. We call to the woman's blood that flows through your veins, the blood that makes you rise up and fills your spear so that you can open the way to plant the seed of life. _

_We are eternal, always here, always in the blood of every man and woman. Listen to us and know what you must do, what only you can do. Join in our rites as our way cannot be resisted. Join with the sister of the Goddess, the one who has been chosen by rite of blood to be yours—the light to your dark, the yielding to your demands. Go to her…join with her. Plow the field, delve in the darkness of the womb and find the ancient pleasure with her."_

Adam walked toward Jerusha. He stood and looked at her and admired her beauty and then they joined hands. Jerusha was still afraid of the man, of his power and his hunger but it didn't matter, he dropped to his knees in front of her and Jerusha was unsure what to do. She looked at the four women who stood watching in a circle around them, pleading with them silently but they said nothing, just joined hands and began to chant in a language that Jerusha had not yet been taught.

But no matter Jerusha had wanted, the calling was upon Adam, and as the chanting and singing became faster and more chaotic, Adam and Jerusha joined their bodies and their destinies and finally, the woods around them rang with a sound that was a mix of pleasure, agony and power.

Adam, had dropped to the grass after the ritual of the joining, completely spent. A heaviness came over him, a cloudiness of thought and he couldn't open his eyes but he heard women's voices and hands upon him. The last words he heard before he slept were, _"You are the man, the giver and taker who holds life; you open the gates and enter—and let the world in. You are lust and desire, the giver and the taker, the beginning and the end, and you need us. To live you need us." _

In the morning, Adam would awaken with Jerusha's body entwined with his and the hunger would come upon him again and he would let the world know with his cry of exultation that he had possessed the woman and found pleasure with her. And the blue sky shone above them with the beasts of the field watching.

Ben had awakened with a jerk. Elizabeth had called him, had been calling him but he had resisted and now he could no longer. It was almost dawn. Ben dressed quickly; he would waken Adam and they would go to the women's house together—he would put an end to it. But Adam wasn't in his room.

Ben looked around; Adam's bed was unmade. He knew—knew what had happened. The sisters had called to him—they had enthralled Adam as they had done so many nights ago, years ago when the fever in his blood was so high, raged at such intensity that he allowed the other two women to excite him, to encourage him until he emptied his full river of seed into Elizabeth. He had pushed it out of his memory or at least tried, but the hunger had come back and Ben had to find his son and confront the women.

TBC


	12. XII

"Where's my son?" Ben asked Eunice who had opened the front door. He was shaking slightly as on the way to the women's house, he had heard the buzzing of women's voices in his ears. When Eunice opened the door, he felt the heat run through his veins.

"Alive," Eunice answered. "You needn't worry about your son. We create life as the land does when a seed is planted. We…"

Ben pushed open the door and saw the other three women sitting there. The memory of the night Adam was conceived now returned in startling clarity and he gasped. He looked at Eunice and then glanced at Phoebe who returned his stare defiantly. He could again smell the musky odor of their women parts and feel again their searching mouths as he had kissed them so long ago, desired them and they had returned his passion tenfold. He remembered flesh, yielding flesh that allowed him his way in order to find delights for them and for himself.

"You were there—the night I came home, the night my son was conceived, you two were there with Elizabeth waiting for me," Ben said to both Eunice and Phoebe. He tried to gather himself together but he had been hearing the ringing in his head that turned to a chanting, a droning, a singing and then Phoebe rose and went to him. She took Ben's hand.

"Yes," she said, "we have joined and I have called to you since we arrived—called as the urge to join with you again has been great—almost overwhelming. Come with Eunice and me, come with us."

Ben found himself on a wide bed with Eunice lying beside him, her breathing heavy as if she was recovering from some exertion, and Phoebe was kissing him. "Me again," Phoebe whispered as she bent over him and kissed him deeply.

Phoebe had said "again." Ben couldn't remember what had happened from the time Phoebe had taken his hand to now but slowly, images came back to him, pleasurable feelings came back to him and he pulled Phoebe violently to him, desiring her. But suddenly Ben pushed Phoebe aside. He stood up and began to dress.

"Don't leave," Phoebe cried.

Ben glanced at her and felt the pull to return but he also felt a stronger voice telling him to leave—his son Adam was coming. "I have to go—I…I don't know how I came to be here. I…"

"Yes," Phoebe said. She looked defiantly at Ben. "You were the bull—as much of a bull as Elizabeth's son is. You didn't need much encouragement from us that night with Elizabeth nor now. You remember that, don't you?"

Ben voice practically strangled him when he answered. "Yes, I remember." He now remembered clearly the two women but he couldn't remember all that had happened, just the feel and smell of female flesh—and the sisters. There was something about the sisters and he remembered the three women waiting for him in his bed that night and in the morning he had woken up alone, his head aching. When Ben had gone downstairs, Abel Stoddard was smoking his pipe and reading the newspaper. Elizabeth was humming to herself in the kitchen as she fixed breakfast. Ben never broached the subject of that night with Elizabeth—just forbade her from seeing her "friends" again, as he called them, and Elizabeth gave no clue as to what had passed. And Ben had wondered if maybe it had just been a dream.

Ben knew he need to leave. He walked out into the sitting room and Hortense and Mariah were there. They stood.

"It should have been another," Hortense said, "any man but you, someone more docile. But Elizabeth wanted you, insisted it be you. She valued your strength of will; she would only join with you and it was your strength, your power of will that killed her; she could not overcome it. Elizabeth was beloved by all of us and had a ken for other things—she was going to be great but her love for a man was her downfall and our loss—and our broken hearts. Now we can see that her choice of you was correct in that your son is as, if not more powerful; he has great desire that overwhelms Jerusha's reluctance and has won her over. Do not come between them—they are bound to one another."

"So Adam is with her. Where?"

The women looked at one another and then back to Ben. "They are coming now," Hortense said.

Ben swung open the front door and walking toward the house was a barefoot Adam, his arm protectively around the young woman who was wearing a sleeveless gown. She turned at the sight of Ben and hid against Adam, her face pressed against his shirt. Ben could see the curve of her small back through her gown. Adam's horse, its halter lead dragging on the ground, followed them into the yard, saddleless.

Mariah pushed past Ben, an afghan in her hands. Adam released Jerusha slightly so that Mariah could wrap the afghan around her.

"Pa, what are you doing here?" Adam wrapped his arm around Jerusha again and she kept her head down.

"Me? What are you doing here?"

"I'm marying Jerusha. I gave her the ring."

Ben then noticed the ruby ring glistening on Jeerusha's left hand and the way Adam had spoken his intention, Ben knew there was nothing more he could do. But Ben wasn't the only one disturbed by the news.

The women all gathered on the porch. "What?" Hortense said. "You can't marry, Jerusha, you need to come back with us."

Adam held on to Jerusha tighter and Jerusha gathered her courage.

"I want to stay with him—with Elizabeth's son. Please. Let me stay with him."

"You don't have to ask their permission," Adam said.

"Oh, Adam, they've raised me, taken care of me after my mother died. I owe them so much." But Jerusha looked back at the women. "I am staying."

"Yes," Eunice said, walking toward them and putting her hand on Hortense's arm to signal she should stop. "Everyone is leaving today and you and I, Jerusha, we need a protector, a man to stay with us. Adam, you're welcome to live here with us."

The women looked at one another and went back into the house, followed by Eunice; Ben was left alone. He walked down the few stairs and looked at his son, Elizabeth's son.

"I suppose that there's nothing more to say but congratulations." Ben, so close to Adam and Jerusha felt the vibrations that still echoed from their joining, the heat that ran through Adam's veins. "Well, when is the wedding to take place?"

"We exchanged vows this morning when I gave her the ring." Adam answered.

"Well, I was thinking more along the lines of a legal marriage—it would make things easier, Adam." Ben managed to smile.

"I suppose it would." Adam turned to Jerusha. "We'll go to Carson City, it's closer, to be married by the Justice of the Peace. I 'll be back here by noon." Adam bent and kissed her, holding her tightly to him and then Jerusha looked at Ben and glanced once more at Adam as he released her.

"Yes, noon. Come for me," she said, her hand lingering on his and then she lightly ran to the house in her bare feet.

Adam and Ben looked at one another. Adam was prepared for a confrontation but he knew that he wanted Jerusha and there was nothing his father could say or do that would stop him. Ben knew it as well so all he said was that if there was going to be a wedding, they had best get home and clean up. Adam couldn't be married barefoot.

TBC


	13. XIII

Hortense and the two women who had arrived with her left that afternoon but not before they met while Jerusha bathed.

"The son is like the father," Mariah said. "Even I can see that. Ben used to try to keep Elizabeth from us but the bonds between us were too strong and yet, his will overcame hers. Just as Elizabeth wanted Ben Cartwright…" Mariah looked at Eunice and Phoebe who flushed, "and so did our two sisters here, so does Jerusha want Adam. Back in Boston, we are expected to bring Jerusha back with us."

"Yes," Hortense said, "I hadn't counted on this, on Jerusha feeling so strongly for Adam. I fear that she is more devoted to the man than to us, than to the Goddess. You, Eunice and Phoebe, you joined with Ben Cartwright, he entered all three of you, gave and received pleasure and he left seed but you didn't cling to him afterwards. Why not? He was alone when Elizabeth died. You might have been able to keep him there—he and his son." "

Eunice and Phoebe glanced at one another and then looked down. Eunice spoke up.

"Because of Elizabeth. She loved him greatly; had she only used him for a child, only wanted a husband for pleasure, we would have enthralled him as well—actually, I tried but he resisted—I whispered the chant of attraction and he remembered it when he saw me again—or felt it. I would imagine for Jerusha, it is as it was with Elizabeth, as it could have been for either Phoebe or me if Elizabeth our sister hadn't felt the way she did—so strong—so strong a bond—needing the man, needing his love even more than his seed."

"Phoebe, Mariah, pack the bags," Hortense said standing up. "And Eunice, allow the marriage for Jerusha's sake. She will pine for the man if she is not with him-and I think he may even use violence against us if Jerusha is taken from him. When the child comes, the granddaughter of Elizabeth, deliver it and then let us know. We will have to find a way to join Jerusha with more of her sisters, to bring her back to Boston so that we don't lose her to him."

So Adam and Jerusha were married. Ben, Eunice, Hoss and Joe were there but it all seemed unreal to them. But afterwards, they left the couple alone in Carson City and Adam finally had his trembling bride in the civilized manner of society, in a hotel room. But there was nothing civilized about their copulation; the ancient blood ran through them both and had anyone been watching, it would have appeared that their passion was extreme as their coupling seemed more along the lines of some type of pain but it was only the extreme of sensations that called forth Jerusha's cries and sobs and Adam's moans and groans of release. The desk clerk tried to field noise complaints from the rooms beside the newly-married couple and above and below it until he tentatively knocked on the door.

The door partially opened and an obviously naked Adam Cartwright stood blocking the clerk's sight. The clerk quickly looked around but the hall was empty.

"What do you want?" Adam asked brusquely.

The clerk swallowed. The look in Adam's eyes told the clerk that Adam wasn't going to tolerate any interference. "I was wondering if you and you wife would like dinner sent up—compliments of the house."

"Thank you," Adam said and closed the door. The clerk pulled out his handkerchief and wiped his brow. If anyone else complained, he decided, he would just move them to another room as far away from the couple as possible.

The couple lived in the house with Eunice. Ben tried to have them live at the Ponderosa but Jerusha asked Adam to let her stay—she would be so lonely there in the big hose when he was gone and because Adam could deny her nothing, he agreed. Ben reluctantly gave up asking and Adam seemed to be himself again—only happier. But his brothers did notice that the closer it came to evening, the more distracted Adam would become as if he was listening for something. And nothing would delay him from returning to Jerusha in the evening.

Eunice served as a mother and a friend to Jerusha and watched over her health while doing the cooking and most household chores. She kept in touch with Hortense by mail; they exchanged letters on a regular basis and Eunice would tell them of how Jerusha was blooming, becoming heavy with child and that Adam was a most indulgent husband and a passionate lover to his wife; that was her only worry.

As soon as he had moved in, Adam began the repairs to the house and would reluctantly leave his wife every morning and return at the end of the work day to the welcoming arms and mouth of Jerusha; he adored her. When she began to become full and round, Adam insisted on Jerusha being seen by the doctor and Eunice allowed it; she didn't protest for she knew that Adam's will was greater than hers.

Some people in Virginia City looked askance at Adam's bride; she seemed to come out of nowhere and she was young—so young and fresh. But then some men said they didn't blame Adam, a man needed a young bride in these parts since life was so hard and many women died early from hard work, disease or childbirth. Widowers often took young wives but they were impressed by Mrs. Cartwright's delicate beauty and her almost clear blue eyes. And Adam adored her; it was obvious to everyone who saw them together.

Trace Cuthbert told everyone that his daughter broke off with Adam when he started courting the young woman who lived on their property with an older woman—her aunt, he thought. There was something funny about them, Trace said. H didn't say that once he had made a snide comment to another man about Jerusha when the two women were in town, said that he wondered if Adam Cartwright was the first man to split her legs apart and Eunice heard. She looked at Trace and he felt his blood heat up and his desire rise to an almost unbearable height. He wanted to throw Eunice on the planked floor of the mercantile and have her, not caring who saw and the feeling was so overwhelming that he had to leave. Nevertheless, he said knowingly, it was obvious by Jerusha's swelling belly that Adam hadn't wasted any time in filling her with children.

Adam said nothing as he never really heard the rumors. Ben, Hoss and Joe did but they never told him; they didn't want to disturb the couple's happiness and happy they seemed to be.

Adam reveled in Jerusha's love, luxuriated in her body and at night, as her belly swelled with their child, Adam would run his hands over her abdomen and kiss her full breasts, the aureoles having turned darker and larger in preparation for the infant. And Adam's hunger for Jerusha only reached a higher fevered pitch, seeming to grow greater with each passing day. And even then he was never satisfied, burying his face in her breasts when she turned to him. Her scent alone aroused him and he could never make his ache for her subside, no matter how many times he experienced release—it would only mount again.

As Jerusha's body changed, Adam was in awe. He was amazed at the way she prepared for his child and he would discover new differences every day. He would hold her heavy breasts in his hands.

"You'll have to share them with our daughter," Jerusha teased him one time as he had come up behind her as she dressed.

"She's not here yet," he had said and moved his hands over her body. And Jerusha would shudder knowing that that evening, Adam would be with her, overwhelming her, causing her to shake her even to her teeth.

Eunice would lie in the dark and hear them, Jerusha's small cries and then the sound of their bodies moving would seem to echo through the house until Adam's exultant cry and then silence would fall. And Eunice would think again of Ben Cartwright and the time she had spent with him so long ago. And Eunice thought to herself that if Adam gave Jerusha even half the pleasure that his father had given her then she envied Jerusha.

One morning after Adam had left, Jerusha sat in her robe sipping at coffee, picking at her breakfast of pancakes while the fire in the stove warmed the room for it was November and close to her time. Eunice broached the subject of the imminent birth of the child.

"You're close to giving birth—you should turn him away when he desires you." Eunice poured herself more coffee.

"I don't want to. I need him," Jerusha said. There was a silence between the two women.

"Does he please you? Is that it?"

"Yes," Jerusha said quietly.

Eunice shook her head. "Turn him away tonight."

"I can't—I don't want to." Jerusha stood up and left the table, went to her room and shut the door behind her. Eunice sat silently; she would need to write Hortense.

TBC


	14. XIV

XIV

Jerusha stayed in her room all day and when Adam rode up in the yard, he looked for her; she usually came to the door or in warmer weather, met him outside and threw her arms around his neck as he laughed in his happiness but tonight she wasn't there. The windows blazed with light but Adam left his horse in the yard and walked in. The fire was going and the house was warm. Eunice stepped out of the kitchen.

"Dinner's ready," Eunice said. "Wash up. We're having chicken and dumplings."

"Where's Jerusha?"

"She's lying down." Eunice said. "She's tired—she's been in the bedroom all day and I had to almost force her to take lunch." Eunice turned to go back to the kitchen but she heard Adam go into the bedroom where Jerusha was. Eunice sighed; she wished her sisters were there to help her as the man was too strong for her—his will was greater.

Adam ate dinner in silence; Jerusha had come to the table at his urging but she barely ate and Adam watched her closely. A fear gripped him, made his bowels watery and his breath hard to come by.

When he had come home and gone to Jerusha, she was sitting on the edge of the bed. He had asked Jerusha if she was well, if she wanted the doctor but she said no; she was just tired. Adam had gone down on one knee in front of her, taking her small hands in his, and when he looked at her in the falling light, she looked like a mere child and he felt his age upon him.

"I love you, Jerusha, Sometimes I feel that I shouldn't have gone to you—there are so many things I don't understand, but I should have left you alone. You're so young—so clean and pure."

"No, No," Jerusha said, pulling one hand away to touch his face. She leaned in to kiss his mouth. "It was to be—our souls have met before, ages ago. Don't you feel it, Adam? You and I are one and when we join, it is as it should be."

"What are you talking about, Jerusha?" Adam feared she was fevered but her hands were cool. He moved one hand up to her wrist and felt her pulse. It appeared normal and yet she seemed to be talking foolishness.

Jerusha lowered her voice and leaned in intimately to whisper in his ear, one hand on his cheek. "Long ago, Adam, before time became, before the night and the days and the earth and the sky, the idea of man and woman came to the Great Being who divided into the Goddess and the God—It became male and female and so all spirits, all souls were split in half, a male and female—a man and a woman and ever since then, ever since the first times of existence, the two halves had sought to find one another, searching each incarnation and learning along the journey. There have been many incarnations where we have missed one another, been born in different times, slipped away from each other, been placed with others to learn lessons, to reach a higher level but we have found each other in this life and we are one, the two sides to make a whole being and we are to have a daughter. We will name her Elizabeth and she will find her mate, her other half and they will join and do as the creators designed and it will go on for all eternity. When we are separated by passing from this existence, we will search for one another again and cry for one another. Do you understand now, Adam?"

Adam looked into her clear blue eyes and he felt a chill of fear for Jerusha run through him. But then he thought, so many things had happened that he didn't understand that he was willing to at least acknowledge that what she believed could be possible and with anyone else, he would have denigrated it as claptrap, nothing but rubbish, but he couldn't look at her pure, open face and say such things to her; he could allow that she could believe it. Besides, he loved her—all of her and there was an irresistible draw between them—that he had acknowledged and didn't understand.

"Yes, I understand, Jerusha." He reached up and pushed a stray curl off her forehead. "Now listen to me- tomorrow I want to move us back to the Ponderosa."

Jerusha protested, her eyes wide with fear. "No, Adam, I want to stay here with Eunice. I don't want to have the baby alone."

"You won't be alone—that's the whole point. Hop Sing is usually there and Pa only works part of the time and if you like, we'll bring Eunice with us."

"But why do we have to go there?" Her hands clasped his shirtfront and moved nervously, playing with the buttons.

"I just told you-so you won't be alone and Dr. Martin is closer than out here in case there's trouble." Adam had taken Jerusha into Carson City which was closer to their small ranch house but Adam hadn't cared for the doctor. He had said that Jerusha was too delicate and shouldn't be having children and seemed to chastise Adam for his desire for his wife. "But what's done is done," the doctor had said and Jerusha had been fearful. It took the visit to Dr. Martin to calm her fears but Paul had later confided in Adam that Jerusha needed to be watched; she was small and delicate and Paul was pleased that Eunice lived in the house with them; she could keep an eye on Jerusha.

"Trouble?" Jerusha scanned Adam's face. "There might be trouble? But Dr. Martin said…"

Adam took her hands in his again and smiled comfortingly. Despite the fear clawing at him, he didn't want Jerusha to know. "There's not going to be any trouble—I don't even know why I said it. Didn't Dr. Martin say how healthy you were and the baby—kicking like a Missouri mule?"

He stood up and drew Jerusha to him and placed his arms around her. He could feel the child gently moving against him as he held her and kissed her sweet-smelling hair.

The child hadn't moved the last few days and Jerusha had been anxious. She would sit with her hands on her belly and wait but there was no movement. "A child settles down before it's to be born—it's just the way." Eunice had said. But later, Adam had pressed his ear against Jerusha's belly as she lay in bed and he swore to her that he heard a heartbeat—loud and strong and her mind was eased.

Adam released Jeusha and smiled. "I felt her; she's moving around in there. Elizabeth seems to be a little hungry—she must smell the chicken and dumplings so why don't we wash up for dinner." And Adam silently watched as Jerusha went to wash her hands and with her back to his, she didn't see the shudder of fear that took over him.

As they undressed for bed, Adam saw Jerusha with her swollen breasts and her distended abdomen that held their child and he wanted her. Jerusha had turned to him as if she knew his thoughts, gently smiled and welcomed him to her. He took his wife but no matter how many times they lay together, no matter how many times he left his seed deep within her, each time he felt the blood pounding through him, filling him, causing the raging hunger for her, for this one woman and it overpowered him. And each time it was as great as the first time they had joined on the grass. And afterwards, he lay holding his wife, murmuring his love for her and for their child and she felt safe in his arms.

Eunice was jarred awake by a pounding on her bedroom door. She threw back the bedclothes and opened the door to Adam who stood in just his trousers before her, a look of fear on his face.

"It's Jerusha—the baby. The bed is soaked. I'm going to take her to the Ponderosa and then send one of my brothers for Dr. Martin. You come along."

"Dr. Martin? We don't need him."

"I don't trust the doctor in Carson City—and Jerusha didn't like him. Just dress and come."

Eunice followed Adam into the bedroom where he pulled on his boots and a shirt. Jerusha lay moaning on the bed, doubled up and gripping her abdomen. Her water had broken and the bedclothes were soaked.

"I can help her deliver the child," Eunice said. "I've helped at births before but I wrote Hortense to come...she'll be here in a week. He baby wasn't yet to come."

"If you don't want to come with us to the Ponderosa, stay here then," Adam said as he pulled a blanket out of the trunk at the foot of the bed and took it to Jerusha. He spread the blanket on the bed and placed Jerusha on it, wrapping it around her. He picked her up but Eunice grabbed his arm.

"If you take her, you'll kill her. How long will it take, Adam? Over and hour—almost two-in a buggy to get to the Ponderosa or even more since you'll be in the buggy. And then how long? Another hour or more to get to town and then two until the doctor has made it to the Ponderosa."

Adam was unsure what to do. He held Jerusha tightly. "But she needs…the child is coming." All his life Adam had relied on cool logic, on his ability to think rationally about what needed to be done next but at this moment with Jerusha in pain and their child ready to be born, he was unsure. But Eunice made sense as far as Jerusha traveling over the rough terrain to reach the Ponderosa. And then there was the time it would take to retrieve the doctor. But Mrs. Caswell had told them in church that first babies often took days to finally be born. But then, she added, babies always chose their own time to come into this world.

"All right," Adam said, gently laying Jerusha down on the bed. He stood up and faced Jerusha and said, "I'm going to get Dr. Martin." And Adam picked up his hat on the way to saddle his horse, not even bothering with his gun belt.

Adam rode into the yard and noticed the sun was beginning to rise; he had left Dr. Martin far behind, not having the patience to keep pace with him.

Adam rushed into the house, pulling off his hat and throwing it on the settee; the house was quiet. He walked to the bedroom, barely able to breathe. Eunice sat in the rocking chair holding a bundle and Jerusha lay on the bed, her face colorless, her eyes closed and the bed, the whole lower half of the mattress was red with blood.

He looked at Eunice and she saw a truly devastated man. "I tried—all I knew I tried."

Adam walked over to the bed and pulled Jerusha into his arms but her head hung limply.

"Jerusha, Jerusha…" Adam's voice broke and he hid his face in her neck. She was lost to him now—lost completely.

When Dr. Martin entered the bedroom, he knew immediately what had happened. He looked at Eunice who was holding a bundle in a blanket and rocking.

"The child?"

"A boy," Eunice said. "A healthy boy. His mother is dead but he is alive." She stood up and handed the infant to the doctor and slowly went to her room as in a daze. She would pack her bags to return to Boston; there was nothing here.

TBC


	15. Epilogue

**Epilogue**

They buried Jerusha on a rainy day and held the child whom Adam hadn't yet named; he and Jerusha had never discussed boys' names. Afterwards Adam went back to the Ponderosa with his family; he had yet to hold his son.

"You have to name him," Ben said a few nights later as he held his grandson as he sat by the fire. The infant was beautiful with dark curly hair and an intelligence behind its deep blue eyes.

"Name him what you want," Adam said. "It doesn't really matter."

"Don't you have any ideas?" Joe said. "Didn't you and…didn't you talk about names if it was a boy?"

"It?" Ben said.

"You know what I mean," Joe said. "it just goes to show—he needs a name. What about his Christening? Won't that be in week or two?"

Hoss who was looking over his pa's shoulder, smiling down at the child who would glance at him and move its small fists, said. "You gotta name 'im, Adam. We can't just call 'im Baby for a name like you can call a dog, Dog."

"Okay-Oretses?" Adam stood up and went upstairs.

"Hmph," Hoss said. "What kinda name is Oretses?"

"Not a name for my grandson," ben said tersely. "In Greek mythology, Orestes killed his mother Clytemnestra."

"If Adam's joking," Joe said, "it's a pretty sick one."

Ben sighed. "Adam has been sick lately, sick almost to death but not with disease—he's in great grief—black grief. I can understand—it takes a while before it loses its grip on you. He'll come around—he will. Just give him time."

Hoss and Joe exchanged looks, uncomfortable looks. The child began to fuss and Ben hushed him but before the child could actually burst into a full, lusty cry, Hop Sing came rushing out of the kitchen.

"Hop Sing bring bottle, baby boy. No cry." Hop Sing stood next to Ben's chair. "You give child to me—I feed."

"Wait a minute," Joe said. "It's my turn, Hop Sing." He put out his arms and Ben stood up and went to Joe and placed the child in his welcoming embrace. Hop Sing gave Joe the bottle and the baby began to greedily suck while Hop Sing and Ben watched.

"When's it gonna be my turn?" Hoss asked petulantly.

"When he wakes up in the middle of the night," Joe said and Hop Sing smiled while Ben laughed.

Adam sat at his desk in his room. He opened the drawer and there were the two moon pendants inside. He held out them both, not knowing which was his mother's and which was Jerusha's; it didn't really matter, he considered, as there would be no other woman to whom to give the pendant—not ever. And Adam knew that there was a connection between his mother and Jerusha, a bond that had been formed in a moment in time—whether by circumstances or a power beyond them.

"I don't believe it, Jerusha," Adam said quietly into the emptiness, "but I hope I'm wrong and that eventually, we'll find each other again—sometime in the future, another life maybe, another time. I hope it's true." And Adam glanced out the window and saw the new moon glowing in the night sky.

~ Finis ~


End file.
